


echo into the midnight

by fineosaur



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, Twelfth Night (Shakespeare) AU, and as usual, arya and jon are still of noble blood btw, arya as arry, but in a goooood gay way?, i mean it's a shakespeare au what do you expect, jon and arya are twins, like the slowest of burns, title from 'kings' by paul de leon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-09-26 12:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20389531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineosaur/pseuds/fineosaur
Summary: Twelfth Night AUGendry, Duke of Illyria pursues Lady Ygritte at the council of his advisor, Ser Davos. When Arya is shipwrecked on Illyria she chooses to disguise herself as a man, Arry. Who is then hired as a page to help him in courting the Lady Ygritte, her concealed identity becomes the source of conflict and misguided feelings.indefinite hiatus





	1. these sovereign thrones

**Author's Note:**

> this play is super fun and cute so i thought why not make it into an au for my favourite couple  
enjoy!

#### The Duke’s Palace

”I don’t see how this is necessary, Davos,” the Duke told his advisor whilst pacing around his chambers. He was half dressed, his cotton shirt untied as well as his breeches. Considering the conversation they were having, Davos didn’t blame the young Duke for pulling at his hair every 5 minutes.

”I understand your reservations, son. You know that this is what is expected of you,” the young man continued pacing, barely taking in the words being said to him. “Gendry, look at me,” The pacing man turned to him, pushing his black hair out of his face. “Now that you are old enough, you must do what is needed of you. Your uncles cannot act as your regencies forever.”

Gendry sighed and looked at his advisor. “I know, I do. I’ve always known I was the heir, I just didn’t realise this would all happen so soon,” He sat down on the edge of his bed looking dejected.

”I’m guessing you don’t have any verses written describing the Lady Ygritte’s beauty yet?” Davos stated jokingly to lighten the mood. Gendry chuckled lightly, burying his face in his palms.

”I draw the line at that, I haven’t even seen her. How am I meant to _woo_ her and write poetry about her when I haven’t even laid eyes on her,” When he spoke, Davos couldn’t help but think back on the young boy he once was. At times when conflicted, the young Duke still sounded like a boy. Now though, he was a man grown and with that came responsibilities and duties. Marriage to a suitable lady was one of them.

”Rest, your grace. I will see what I can do for the poetry writing,” Davos dismissed himself.

”Davos, you know there is no need to address me as such. It makes me uneasy when the closest person I have to a father calls me _your grace_,” Gendry’s tone grew more and more sombre as time went.

”Of course, _son_. I’ll ask the servants to bring some fruits to break your fast. How ‘bout some cheese?” He told Gendry, halfway out the door.

”Yes, thank you.”

* * *

#### The sea-coast

”What country might this be, Yoren?” The young woman asked the bearded man. He turned to face her at the question. Studying her, damp hair was being pushed away from her face to reveal her grey eyes.

”Illyria, my lady,” Yoren told her, trying to brush off the sand that clung to his wet clothes.

”And Jon. Have you seen him?” She asked the older man, still trying to ring the water out of her hair.

”I’m sorry, Lady Arya. When our ship went down, I lost track of your brother’s whereabouts. He was a brave young man, I pray it was a quick one.” Arya took a moment to gather her thoughts, barely batting an eye at the captain’s formal way of addressing her. Jon couldn’t be gone. It felt so easy to fall apart right there, on the cold beach amongst the wreckage of their ship. She wouldn’t allow herself to, Jon wouldn’t have wanted her too. Arya wanted more than anything to have her brother near her, messing up her hair and telling her it was alright. It was not practical to crumble just yet, when everything was suddenly uncertain. There was always a small glimmer of hope, _if I made it, might be that he did too._

”Tell me, Yoren. Do you know Illyria well?”

”I was born near here, it’s a good place.”

”Continue, I’d like to know more about the country we find ourselves stranded on,” Arya prodded, hoping to take her mind off her brother and in an effort to figure out how she was to proceed.

”I believe it is currently governed by young, Duke Gendry with the help of his uncles and advisors,” Yoren began telling her, the both of them walking further inland, still attempting to ring out their clothing and get rid of the persistent sand clinging to them. “Talk is, he’s currently pursuing the Lady Ygritte for her hand. Powerful alliance that would be.” Arya nodded at the information given to her by the captain, reflecting on what could be done.

”Tell me about the Lady Ygritte, then,” The gears in her mind now trying to put together a plan.

”Still in mourning, she refuses to see anyone. She’s recently lost her brother, you see. And doesn’t wish to speak about marriage for the foreseeable future.” Suddenly her heart dropped, reminding her of her own loss. There was no way she would be able to make it through a day staying in a court drowned in the same misery she was trying so hard to hold back. The squelch of her wet boots brought her eyes down, they trailed on her breeches and gave her an idea.

”Would you to help me get a place at the Duke’s court-” She watched Yoren’s expression before adding her last bit. “As a man?” She watched the bearded man nod and tell her _aye, of course_. The smallest glimmer of hope resurfaced, only now wishing for Jon to give her strength.

* * *

#### Ygritte’s Court

A tall red haired man, leaned back in his chair. He drank from a cup, allowing the ale to soak his beard with no hesitation. “Your niece has repeatedly told you to stop with that,” A voice broke him out of his thoughts.

”Ah Brienne, to what do I owe this pleasure.” He looked up to see the woman in front of him grimace at the sight of his soaked beard and clothing. Himself, he was described as tall but in the presence of her, he was easily dwarfed. He’d always thought of her as magnificent.

”Your niece.”

”Yes. She’s become such a bore lately hasn’t she?” He stated, setting his cup on the table and putting his feet up near it, now leaning even further back on his chair.

”Tormund. Her brother died, your nephew,” Brienne was shocked at the man’s callousness.

”Yes, but do you really think it’s wise of her to turn down suitors just because of a dead man. He’s dead, it’s done.”

”And that means you and your new friend get to wake us all up during the night with your reverie?” She asked him, sitting on the chair adjacent to him and pouring a cup for herself.

”Oh, Ser Jaime? He’s one of the suitors, what do you think of him?” He said, eyeing the woman facing him.

”Pompous fool,” Brienne told him, taking a swig of ale and avoiding his gaze. Only then the man himself appeared, strutting in his fine garb and his locks of golden hair.

”Ah, here he comes! Jaime Lannister,” He said, calling out to the blond man and gesturing for him to sit.

”Tormund! How are you faring after last night, friend?” Jaime asked his bearded friend. Broad smile plastered on his face as he greeted him.

”Never better,” Tormund responded, turning to the chair where Jaime had taken a seat.

”Morning, _wench_,” Jaime said, giving a nod of the head to Brienne.

”Same to you, _Ser_,” she responded in a spitting tone as she always did when he was concerned.

”Come on, tell me what you think of my niece,” Tormund suggested.

”She hardly seems interested, I have been here a while. In that time, I have only seen her face once. Either she’s grieving or she hates me,” Jaime supplied. “I believe she’s grieving, how could anyone hate me?” He added, laughing at his own joke.

”I could come up with a few reasons. If thinking is really so hard for you,” Brienne retorted.

”Excuse me?” Jaime sounded bemused at her insult.

”Try not to let the woman get to you, it would be much nicer to have her on top of you,” Tormund joked before laughing loudly at his own comment.

”Such gentlemen, I’ll be taking my leave now,” Brienne said before getting up from her chair, taking a moment to glare at Tormund for his comment.

”Farewell wench!” Jaime waved at her, smiling smugly as she left.

”Tell me really, do you still wish to court my niece?” Tormund’s tone was more serious now that Brienne had left. He sat up properly and looked into the green eyes before him.

Seeming uncomfortable with the conversation, Jaime straightened his posture as well.

“You brought me here, you told me she would be glad to have me. I cannot tell if I want her.”

”What are you saying?”

”I’m saying, I came here because my father has been driving me mad about finally settling down. I thought this would be an easy way to appease him, now I am not even sure I can stand your niece.”

Tormund straightened himself up in his chair further, raising his eyebrow at the man in front of him.

”What I mean is, how will I marry her, court her, if she chooses to not be seen?” Jaime amended.

”I still don’t understand what madness has befallen her,” Tormund said, relaxing his posture once more.

”And now, have you heard of Duke Gendry?” Jaime asked.

”Of Illyria? Yes, what of him?”

”Talk says, his council wants to arrange a match between him and Lady Ygritte. He seems to be very much enamoured with your niece.”

”And you see him as competition?” Tormund huffed as if Jaime’s concern was futile.

”Of course I do, _he’s a Duke_,” Jaime reiterated, his voice rising.

”Ygritte does not wish to see you and you are living in the same court as her, why are you trembling at the notion of some boy who is not even here?”

”You may have a point,” Jaime leaned back in his chair, now lost in thought.

”As I usually do, Lannister,” Tormund mocked, tipping back his cup of ale once more, allowing it to soak his beard once more.

* * *

#### The Duke’s Palace

Davos walked towards Gendry’s chambers, leading the new page to meet him.

”Now listen, boy. Arry was it?” Davos asked the dark haired page beside him who nodded in response. “So, the Duke is a great man, very kind. Try not to irritate him, you’ll be miserable if he’s decided to be tetchy. Write the verses, say them back to him so that he knows what it is you are singing to the Lady Ygritte, alright?”

”Yes, it’ll be simple enough.”

”Don’t look so scared, boy, a few more days and you’ll hardly be a stranger around here. You will be spending a generous amount of time with him,” Davos laughed, patting Arya on the back.

”I am not _scared_,” She said back, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves, finding the clothes less comfortable than the ones she was used to. Just as she articulated her sentence, the doors to the Duke’s chambers were opened, drowning out her voice.

”Here we are, come in,” Davos led Arya, his hand a vice on her shoulder as he dragged her into the expansive chambers. Tall windows were spread out across the walls of the room, it was much less a room, more of a small hall. Arya herself had come from Messaline nobility, but she had never seen such architecture as she had when Davos had shown her around the Duke’s palace. The windows allowed the room to be filled with the gentle light of the afternoon sun, illuminating the furs and the coloured drapes of the canopy.

After taking in the view of the room, Arya’s gaze finally settled on the black haired man sat at a desk. She immediately realised this was the Duke, the one with the thick black hair and piercing deep blue eyes which now stared at her. He stood up from his chair, she noticed how tall he was, how the thin cotton shirt he wore barely covered his strong arms. This was the man she’d be spending so much of her time with. Arya swallowed heavily as the man approached.

”Davos, you should have told me you would be bringing someone, I’d have dressed properly,” the Duke said in a deep voice.

”Sorry, my lord,” the Duke glared at his advisor, “This is Arry, your new page. He will be writing and singing your verses to the Lady Ygritte.”

The Duke turned his attention to her, his expression relaxing as he looked her up and down. “Pleasure to finally meet you, my lord. I am looking forward to begin our work together,” the Duke huffed at Arya’s greeting.

”Yes, it’s a joy to finally have someone who will help me express my love and devotion for Lady Ygritte,” He almost sounded sarcastic, Arya thought. She did not know him, she was not ready to make assumptions.

”Right, Arry will be back after I’ve shown him around the rest of the palace. Sorry for the interruption, my lord,” Davos said, beginning to walk out of the room.

Arya stood rooted in her spot, still studying the Duke. She watched him wave Davos away in annoyance. She found him enigmatic, his manners, everything seemed to be a contradiction. He walked past her, his eyes meeting hers, giving him an expression she couldn’t quite read. It made her hairs stand up. She reined in her courage once more and stood up straight.

”Farewell, my lord,” Arya told him.

”Farewell, Arry,” He smiled at her before taking his seat back at his desk, looking out the windows in front of him. Arya watched him throw his head back against his chair and sigh, she wondered if she’d ever find out what it was that had him so sombre. Taking her leave, Arya followed Davos once more and prepared herself for being _Arry_. For spending most of her days with the oracular Duke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've had this in the works for about a month now (probably more), most of the chapter had been written and sitting idly but i kept debating whether it was good or not and where it would go.  
now that i have a solid idea for where this story will go, i decided to put it up.  
idk if it's like this for other fic writers but modern aus are so much easier to me, the language and the setting of it all is just so natural to write. but i really wanted to try write a multi chapter fic that is set in a universe other than modern, so an elizabethan setting just seemed right to me.  
i hope this chapter was alright and simple enough to follow.  
let me know if you like this one! i love the play twelfth night, i think this fic has so much potential for the humour the play has. so please let me know if you actually want me to continue with this one  
ok, enough ranting, sorry!!  
follow my tumblr for fic mood boards and a lot of nonsense on my side  
\- fineosaur


	2. it gives a very echo to the seat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perfect son - handkerchief thief

_**The Duke’s Palace ** _

The table before him was grand, dark wood, oak probably, it was properly glossed and without a scratch, his uncle had probably had this one brought in after he had called the other _‘ghastly’_ due to many indents caused over the years of use, by other noblemen that had sat in this very council room. He never thought he particularly fit there, especially not sat at the head of the table, leaning back against the hard wood of his chair. His nails scratched gently at the edge of the armrests of his chair as he tuned out his uncles’ voices, the both of them appearing to be heavily debating one thing from another. The last words he had picked up told him it had something to do with exports. 

He knew that Davos, who sat at his side, was probably staring him down, hoping that he retain some of the information being said, no matter how tedious. His interest piqued when his name was finally mentioned, both his uncles turned to stare back at him, Stannis’ thick brows furrowed whilst Renly’s expression only displayed mirth, very much being themselves.

“Given that Gendry is the one involved in the union, shouldn’t we ask his opinion on the matter?” Renly mockingly asked his older brother, the balding man only staring back fiercely. “Nephew, how are your plans on winning Lady Ygritte’s hand going?”

The air around him suddenly felt heavier than it normally was. There was always a stifling humidity that seemed to linger in the council chamber, which was ascribable to the fact that it was placed on the other side of the castle, the only windows in the room did not get the breeze from the sea, leaving the air somewhat stale and sweltering. His doublet felt a hundred times heavier, _ he never enjoyed wearing a doublet over his shirts _. Gendry tugged at his collar slightly, sitting straighter in his chair, trying to think up an answer but seemed to be coming up short on every front. His lungs felt constricted as he felt his indignation slowly bubbled. 

“Win? He does not require to_ win_ anything,” Stannis retorted, his voice stern as it always was, “all we must do is plan a visit with the men on her council and arrange the matter cordially.” As he said cordially, Renly chuckled, was anything cordial when it came to Stannis Baratheon? Diplomatic, sure, but never cordial.

“Ah yes brother, you do know how to be a true romantic, don’t you?” Renly added, the comment earning restrained laughter from Davos, even Gendry could find humour in the matter, if he hadn’t been simmering from the thought of marrying a lady he did not know. 

“This is nothing to do with romance, Renly,” Stannis said, his finger coming down on the table as he began to explain his thoughts, the gesticulating seemed to be laced with a certain fury they all had trouble keeping at bay. “This is to do with securing Gendry’s position. Ygritte is a perfect match, she’ll provide the stability of his rule so clearly needs. And there will be the promise that down the line the legacy of the Baratheon name will surely be passed down!” 

Gendry felt his stomach flip at the thought of the need to provide heirs. He wasn’t ready for marriage to some stranger, let alone start producing heirs. He could hardly be a father just yet, he could hardly be a Duke, let alone a husband. The seams of his clothing felt as if they were being taken in, suffocating him slowly, pushing the air out of his lungs._ He had to get out of the council chamber _. 

Pushing his chair back abruptly, the screech of the wood against the stone floor turned all heads to him, they all watched as he walked out of the door, without another word, heading to his own rooms. 

First thing after entering his chamber, Gendry immediately pulled at the ties of his clothing, tossing the heavy material of the doublet aside before removing his shirt as well. He felt considerably better within the safety of his rooms, with the air that swirled through the windows, bringing in the salty, crisp air of the sea. He headed to the water basin in the corner of his room, splashing his face a few times in hopes to cool down. 

After freshening up, his stomach took him to the kitchens, where he knew he’d find his friend. Not even entering the corridor, Gendry could already smell the warmth and flavours of freshly cooked foods and heat from the ovens. Before even properly walking into the kitchens, Hot Pie had already begun talking to him. Not even allowing him a moment to greet the flaxen-haired cook.

“Try this, tell me if you find it too salty, or too flakey, overcooked? Not cooked enough?” Hot Pie blabbered, stuffing what Gendry assumed to be pastry or maybe a pie crust. He tasted it, never knowing how whether the salt was right or even if it was undercooked, only knowing that whatever the man cooked, it would taste incredible.

“It’s perfect, Pie,” Gendry reassured him, walking up to a kitchen stool and sitting as he watched Hot Pie clutter around the kitchen once more.

“Should have been cooked less,” he continued, shaking his head slightly. “You hungry?” Hot Pie asked, looking up at Gendry who was reaching out for a pear.

“Nah, just came by to see how you’re holding up,” Gendry shrugged, taking a bite out of the soft pear, wiping the excess juice that ran down his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“How I’m holding up? I should be asking how you’re doing with this whole marriage thing.”

Gendry sighed, “You’ve heard already?”

“I work in the kitchens of _ your palace _,” Gendry cringed at his words, “it’s all the palace staff is talking about.”

“It’s not my palace,” Gendry mumbled back, _ it was his father’s, the man he never knew and was thankful he hadn’t known. _

“You’re not happy about it, are you?” 

“Of course not. Do I seem even near ready for marriage?” Gendry explained, “Let alone an arranged one.”

“Yeah, you’re right, who would want to marry a man who can’t even tie up his shirt,” Hot Pie mocked. Gendry’s eyes looked down at his shirt, the laces loose and undone. He held his pear in his mouth, using his now free hands to fasten the ties.

“I’m serious, I can’t marry this woman, I’ve never met her,” he leaned against the kitchen bench, his eyes following Hot Pie who continued making his way around the kitchen. “What if she’s one of those proper ladies, who think I shouldn’t even be in this position.”

“You were the only heir!”

“Yeah, well maybe my cousin would have been better suited,” Gendry shrugged, “she’s smart enough for it.” He smiled at the thought of the young Shireen.

“If so, wouldn’t that make your uncle Stannis the Duke?” Hot Pie asked, his hand stilling from the apple he was peeling. 

“You’ve got a point.”

“What have your uncles said about it? What did Renly say?”

“Renly shouldn’t talk, he’s happily married to the man he loves, why should I have to let him choose someone for me?” 

“Maybe because he’s got good taste?” Gendry laughed, making a gesture to throw his pear core on the hefty man.

“We’re talking about a woman here, not clothing, though I will admit Renly can at least dress properly,” he agreed.

“I’ve heard they’ve already hired someone to sing to her in your name,” Hot Pie added.

Gendry sighed again, thinking about the page boy he’d met briefly, “Yeah, his name is… Arry,” he wondered when he’d be forced to listen to the poems and verses the young man had written. “I haven’t met him properly yet, but I’m assuming that I’ll be spending quite a bit of time with him.”

“At least he’s not boring.”

“How would you know that?” Gendry questioned, curiously.

“He comes by the kitchen, he’s quite funny, talks really high,” Hot Pie told him nonchalantly.

“Guess that’ll make it less tedious then,” Gendry mused.

“Look at you, fancy folk, _ ‘tedious’, _ maybe you are well fitted for being Duke,” Hot Pie jeered.

“Piss off Hot Pie, you know what I have to deal with, might as well get used to it,” Gendry joked back.

Gendry spent the next hours hidden away in the kitchens, where his uncles wouldn’t bother him. He felt himself relax in the presence of his friend, where he had no need to pretend to be anything. Though the looming thought of what his new page boy would have written for him later on.

* * *

Entering his chambers once more, Gendry was greeted with the long dreaded page boy. As much as he hadn’t expected to see Arry so suddenly in his rooms, he certainly did not expect to see him hanging halfway out the window, head so far out it was almost miraculous that he hadn’t fallen out. 

“There _ is _ a balcony,” Gendry told him, standing rooted in spot and finding it hard to hold back his laugh at the way Arry jumped, turning towards him and readjusting his posture. 

“Sorry, my lord,” Arry said, head bent down, eyes trained to the floor, though Gendry could see he was stifling a laugh. _ Mayhaps Hot Pie was right, Arry could be more amusing than he had thought. _

“It’s alright,” Gendry assured, watching as the boy’s eyes finally met his, a blush visible on his face. Did he make him nervous? “I could show you the view from the balcony if you’d like, there’s quite the view of the coast from there.” He offered, trying to set him at ease. 

Arry nodded, following Gendry out a door that led to his balcony. The balustrade was relatively low, the columns between it, white and ornate, allowing a full view of the coast below and the mountains that made up the horizon before them. 

* * *

When Arya stepped out of the high ceilinged room and onto the balcony made up of rough yet smoothened stone, she immediately was hit by the view of the coast, the smell of the salty sea, she thought of the chalky feeling the blue sea gave to her hair, _ she thought of her brother. _

Much of the time Arya spent acquainting herself to her new life and identity as Arry, she spent trying to distance the thoughts of Jon. The innocent part of her had a naive hope that he was alive, that if she had survived their shipwreck, so had he; her more conscious side told her it was futile to let that hope simmer, but she did so anyway. 

She had a hard time keeping her jovial nature intact when existential thoughts were right at the surface. She’d laugh to herself when she thought of times in her childhood when she’d get mistaken for being a boy_ ‘I’m a girl!’ _she’d assert to the unknowing individuals. Now, here she was, in an unknown, foreign place, in the company of a man she barely knew, acting as if she herself were a man. 

The wind tickled her neck, she watched as Duke Gendry leaned against the parapet. Arya blushed again, seeing that he hadn’t realised that his shirt was undone, the wind blew it further aside which finally drew his attention to the hanging laces. She had to admit, the dark sable locks that fell into his blue eyes along with his strong shoulders made him into a very handsome man. She’d seen him sporting only a loose cotton shirt on a pair of tight breeches at all times, seen him be told off by his uncle for it, his uncle with hair of course. Gendry was an unusual nobleman, even back home, in Messaline, she had known many noblemen, none of which were so utterly uneasy with the concept of being a lord, let alone a Duke. 

“I suppose we’ll be in one another’s company quite a bit as from now,” Gendry interrupted her train of thoughts, bringing her gaze from the sea to his eyes, not much of a difference as his eyes seemed just as turbulent and deep. 

“I suppose…” she said softly, still gaining her bearings once more, “I’ve given some thought towards what to say to Lady Ygritte.” Arya watched as he sighed, his gaze falling, his dark hair once again shielding his eyes.

“Well,” he took a moment to breathe in, sharply exhaling before continuing, “let’s head back in and you can tell me more.” There was something about his tone that betrayed any false interest he was showing. She supposed it was all part of the mystery of the young Duke and his reluctance to fill his role. She followed him back into his chambers silently, pondering multitudes. “I’ve heard that you’ve managed to find your way around the place.” He stated, breaking her out of her thoughts once more.

“Oh, yes. Beautiful architecture.”

“Hot Pie finds you quite amusing.”

She laughed lightly at the thought of the cook, remembering her need for composure and stifling her laugh, trying to act as Arry once more. “He is pretty amusing himself, my lord” she retorted.

“I hope that you don’t have to be so formal, it’s Gendry,” he offered, looking abashed at her use of his title. “I don’t do titles. And since we’re going to be around each other quite a bit, you don’t have to be so rigid all the time, just- just pretend I’m like Hot Pie, only not as good at cooking.”

Arya found herself needing to hold back her laughter once more, _ you’re Arry _she had to remind herself. “Of course my- Gendry,” she told him, earning a brilliant smile that brightened his face a lot more than his normal sullen demeanour, whilst that was still characteristic, his smile was refreshing. “Where were we?”

“You had thoughts?”

“Yes, right… have you met Lady Ygritte?”

“No, I have not.”

Difficult as the situation seemed, Arya felt herself easing between the difference of being Arry, she found herself easing into Gendry’s company and thought perhaps it wouldn’t be too tedious to be around him so often. She hadn’t met Ygritte yet either, but she thought of her sister’s songs and knew she’d be able to handle this deftly, and in the meantime, try not to stare too much at his shoulders and the low cut of his shirt that showed off his strong chest and light dusting of hair. 

Arya cleared her throat, “This should be easy enough then?” Gendry chuckled lightly at her words, filling up a goblet with what she supposed was wine.

“Would you like some?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been sitting on thoughts about this fic for months now and finally made myself write it! thank you all the few of you which have taken the time to read or subscribe to this one, i'm sorry for the long wait, life really got going and i've been focused on another wip of mine. i really enjoy writing this fic so please leave any comments to let me know how you think it's going!  
i have a lot of plans for this (esp once my break starts) so stay tuned!  
lots of love  
\- fineosaur


End file.
